


your spirit (never dies)

by aseaofwords



Series: we are the warriors (who built this town) [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Implied Mpreg, Just a Knight and his King who's smitten for him, M/M, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 09:56:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14830106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aseaofwords/pseuds/aseaofwords
Summary: The king bows to no one, kneels to no one, takes orders from no one.No one, except his knight.Or,A prequel





	your spirit (never dies)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to the first work in this series, which you don't have to read to understand what's going on

The king was high and mighty. No one talked back to him, disrespected him. Most people loved him, even with his hardships, but those who didn't were too frightened by him to commit any type of treason. 

When Astocria attacked, the king was relentless in battles. He sent swarm after swarm of soldiers to fight, opened attack shelters for his citizens to hide in.

Astocria will fall. Jonathan will make sure of it.

His red silk cape flew behind him as he walked, deep, fast strides down the long corridors. He pushed open the heavy doors to the meeting room, heart beating a little quicker at the urgency in Sharp’s tone.

The men around the table looked up at the king’s entrance, and all bowed.

All except Patrick.

The knight was opposite him across the room, talking with his page, Artemi, on the urgency of getting his sword sharpened. 

“Sire.” Sharp greeted.

Jonathan nodded once at him. “What is the urgency you bring me here for?”

“Our soldiers, sir.” Sharp responded. “Astocria has taken another hundred captive.”

Jonathan swore under his breath and walked towards the table to look at the map.

“There’s something else,” Seabrook spoke up, “Astocria’s king- he's come to battle.”

Jonathan paused, “Pardon?”

Sharp bit his lip nervously. “The King of Astocria, King Claude, he arrived at the latest battle sight. He took a hundred soldiers captive, wounded ten himself, killed two.”

Jonathan clenched his fists. “Of course,” he muttered, shaking his head, “What do you suppose we do?”

“We take his arrival as a challenge, your highness.” Jonathan’s head general, General Crawford, informed.

Jonathan glared, “He challenged me? My authority? My ability to rule this kingdom? And you haven't  _ killed him ?” _

“Jonathan.” Patrick’s voice spoke sharply.

“Stay out of this,” Jonathan snapped.

“Killing him would be something of a problem,” Crawford replied, “I had to make the decision to kill him and risk killing thousands of our men, or retreat and wait for another opportunity.”

Jonathan let out an angry breath. “If he has the nerve to challenge me, he’ll have to deal with me. Alex!”

Alex DeBrincat, Jonathan’s page, scurried over.

“Go and shine my armor. Get everything ready for me to dress,” Jonathan ordered, “I leave for battle with Crawford’s at my tomorrow morning.”

“Jonathan!” Patrick exclaimed.

Alex hurried off to do as he was told. Patrick stalked forward angrily. “You are  _not_ __ going to battle.”

Jonathan stared him down, and said to the others, “You are dismissed.”

The men left, and Jonathan slammed his hands down on the table. “What kind of king am I if I do not go to war? I am a man of many morals, and I  _ refuse  _ to stand by while that  _ Neanderthal  _ challenges my crown, my ability to keep my people safe?”

“He's trying to get into your head, get under your skin,” Patrick hissed, “You know this. You can't be stupid.”

“I'm not being  _ stupid _ , do you even hear yourself?” Jonathan gawked, “I have to put my kingdom first.”

“You're sending out all your armies, you're sending out me.” Patrick tried to reason, walking forward to grab the wrists of his king, “What would happen if you perished on the battlefield? King Claude would take over. He would enslave your family, your people. You have to think of the kingdom.”

“I _am_ thinking about the kingdom! You dare say otherwise? I am the king! I'll...I’ll…”

“You'll what,” Patrick pressed, “Huh,  _ your highness _ _?_ What will you do?”

Jonathan breathed heavily, fists clenched. Patrick stared him down, watching as the tension slowly bled out of the king, shoulders falling, head bowed in defeat.

Patrick’s eyes softened. “Oh, Jonathan.”

“I'm the king,” he mumble, weak, “Who am to anyone if I can't protect my people? They look up to me. They look to me for protection, for safety. I cannot fail them.”

Patrick held his hands, warm and comforting. “You are a wondrous king. I go to battle whenever you say, because you are my king, you are the best king. I will follow you to the ends of the earth.”

He paused, a small smile on his lips. He laughed a little. “You are as stubborn as the mules in the royal stables. You're going anyway, aren't you?”

Jonathan nodded, “Yes.”

Patrick shook his head and sighed, smiling fondly. “You know I will be with you, every step of the way. It is my job to protect you, and I will, until my last dying breath, and every moment after.”

Jonathan linked their fingers. “I swear to you, when this war is over, I will knight you of the highest standards. You will be by my side for the rest of our lives.”

Patrick kissed his cheek, wrapping his arms around his king. “My love, I will be by your side for all eternity.”

Jonathan laid his head in Patrick’s shoulder, arms tightening around his knight, holding him close. “You promise.”

Patrick nodded against Jonathan’s temple, pressing his lips there, letting them hover.

“I promise.

°♤°♤°

Patrick and his men were out patrolling Astocria, to make sure everything and everyone was staying within borders, and there were no after-war attacks being planned. 

Jonathan sat in his throne, signing documents. With the war over and his kingdom, Reyfara, victorious, it was time for him to sign the certificates of death.

He always hated this part.

“Sharp.” He called, and Sharp approached the throne, “Yes, my lord?”

“How long until Lord Kane’s platoon returns?”

“Should be another day or so.”

Jonathan sighed. “Alright, Sharp. Thank you. You may go.”

Sharp bowed, but looked up at his king. “Sire, for Lord Kane’s sake, and yours, get some sleep. You've been at this and nothing more for hours.”

Jonathan glared, but said nothing, dismissing Sharp with a wave of his hand. Sharp obeyed and disappeared to his living quarters.

Hours later, Jonathan finished the final death certificate, and fled to his bedchamber to rest. He shed his royal regalia, putting on his night clothes and climbed into bed.

At ungodly hours in the morning, Jonathan heard his bedchamber door open. He stilled, hearing the sound of a sword against the floor. His body went tense and he pretended to be asleep, slowly reaching for the dagger under his pillow.

“For God’s sake, Jonathan, relax,” the intruder said, “It's just me.”

A warm hand came to rest in between his shoulder blades, and the king went lax. He glanced his eyes up, “You're not supposed to be back until tomorrow.”

“We arrived back early,” Patrick replied, sliding into the spot in bed next to the king, “Sharp tells me you've been working yourself too hard.”

“Sharp needs to keep his nose out of the king’s business.” Jonathan grumbled, but turned, leaned into Patrick’s body that was warm and solid next to him.

Patrick brought his hand up to cup the back of Jonathan’s neck, rough calluses somehow comforting. The knight scratched his nails at the base of Jonathan’s skull, the short hairs running through his fingers. Jonathan let out a tiny mewl, hands clenching Patrick’s nightshirt.

“Maman keeps asking me about a partner,” the king murmured, “About heirs.”

“Oh?” Patrick asked, free hand rubbing up and down Jonathan’s back.

“Mhm. She wants to find me queens from other...other countries-” he yawned, “But I said no.”

“No?”

“Mm. I want to-to marry you one day. Have babes of our own.” Jonathan rested a hand on his stomach subconsciously.

Patrick nuzzled his hair, “One day, my love. One day.”

They laid in silence for a bit.

“How was Astocria?” Jonathan questioned tiredly, “Causing problems?”

“None at all,” Patrick replied, “but let's not talk about that. You've worked yourself half to death, stressing over the death certificates and heirs. You need your sleep, my king.”

“A king needs to tend to his duties above all,” Jonathan mumbled, but knew he was losing the argument, “My kingdom-”

“Will be there tomorrow, along with all the paperwork and other duties.” Patrick interrupted, “I will lock you in this bedchamber tomorrow if you do not sleep.”

“You speak treason.” Jonathan said, distant. His voice was airy, falling closer and closer to slumber.

Patrick smiled softly, “Treason to you? Never.”

Jonathan fell asleep in the arms of his knight, safe and protected, shoulders a little lighter than when he first got to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thinking of making another part where they get married and have kids, but should it be via adoption or mpreg?


End file.
